Almost Heaven

by Charlotte Douglas

  “Dr. Nathan,” Fran called from the front door.

  Grant took a deep breath to calm his anger. “Yes?”

  “Your sister just phoned. Merrilee’s on her way and should be here in a few minutes.”

  At least this time Merrilee had bothered to call sooner. The knot of anger loosened in his chest. “Ring Jeff Davidson, please, and tell him I’m running late.”

  Fran disappeared into the clinic, and Grant, with Gloria at his side, settled on the front steps to wait. An old misgiving surfaced to niggle at his brain. He couldn’t shake the conviction he’d had all these years that Merrilee had loved him, even more than her career, and that some other reason had been responsible for their breakup. It couldn’t have been his brief display of temper. After all, he’d apologized almost immediately, admitting he’d been wrong.

  They’d been so compatible, so right for each other. And, if she’d really wanted to, she could have pursued her career in Pleasant Valley. He was missing some important piece of the puzzle and he couldn’t figure what it was.

  The only way he’d ever know the true motive for her desertion was to ask her flat-out. And he intended to, first good chance he had. If he was going to spend the rest of his life without the woman he loved more than breathing, he damned well wanted to know why.

  At the sound of an approaching vehicle, he looked up to see Merrilee pulling into the parking lot. She jumped out of her grandmother’s car, grabbed her camera bag and hurried toward him.

  She started her apology before she reached him. “I’m really sorry I’m late. I started in plenty of time, but when I went to my car, I had two flats.”

  She looked so sincerely apologetic, the last vestige of his anger dissipated. “That was bad luck.”

  “Nothing to do with luck,” she said with a shake of her head. “Not according to Jay-Jay. Someone let the air out of my tires on purpose.”

  Chapter Six

  Grant opened the passenger door of the pickup. “Hop in. You can tell me about it on the way.”

  MJ, knowing he was late for his appointment, hurried onto the passenger seat.

  “Somebody purposely let the air out?” Grant motioned Gloria into the rear seat of the cab, then slid behind the wheel. “Jay-Jay’s sure?”

  MJ nodded. “The pressure in the tires was normal yesterday. He checked them when he charged Nana’s battery. Today he double-checked the tires and tested the valves. No punctures or leaks.”

  “Maybe you dragged the valves against the curb when you parked, releasing the air.”

  MJ shook her head. “I parked diagonally, smack in front of Jodie’s.”

  A worried frown creased the smoothness of his high forehead. “And nobody saw anything?”

  “Downtown’s almost deserted this time of year. The lunch crowd was long gone when I went to my car. I didn’t see anyone else on the street.”

  “Could have been kids.”

  MJ shrugged. “Kids are in school.”

  “Maybe. Remember how Jeff Davidson played hooky more often than not?” Grant’s frown deepened and he was silent for a moment. “So we don’t know if the prank was random or aimed specifically at you.”

  “It’s Nana’s car.”

  “Someone might have seen you in it.”

  “I vote for random,” MJ said. “I don’t know anyone who has a grudge against me. Or Nana, either, for that matter.”

  Brynn’s remark about Caroline Tuttle’s continued interest in Grant flashed briefly through her mind, but MJ couldn’t picture the fastidious Caroline risking breaking a nail or dirtying her hands to flatten tires, not even out of jealousy. Besides, Caroline knew MJ well enough to know a couple of flats wouldn’t faze her, much less make her back away from Grant…if she’d still been in love with him.

  Which she wasn’t, she assured herself.

  A new thought hit her. “You don’t suppose…nah.” She shook her head.

  “What?”

  “If Ginger Parker knows what I’m up to, she wouldn’t be happy.” MJ shook her head again. “But as far as I know, she doesn’t know I’m in town.”

  “Maybe somebody’s mad at Jodie,” Grant suggested.

  “Why?”

  “Disgruntled customer?”

  “I doubt that,” MJ said. “I’ve tasted her food. Any disgruntled employees?”

  Grant backed the truck, swung to the entrance, then headed west on the highway. “Jodie’s never fired anyone, and Marie and the wait staff seem content. It’s probably coincidence that whoever did the deed picked the car in front of her place.”

  Grant’s tone was reasonable, but his expression was fierce. MJ recalled fifteen years earlier, when young Jodie’s pregnancy was the hot topic of Pleasant Valley gossip and Jodie herself the brunt of side-long looks and unkind remarks. MJ had been in middle school, but she clearly remembered how Grant, a high school senior, had championed his little sister. Without striking a blow or raising his voice, he’d drawn a line in the sand. Anyone who crossed it to embarrass or to antagonize Jodie would have to answer to him.

  And no one had dared.

  He’d been the epitome of a storybook hero, a caped crusader, a knight in shining armor, a white-hatted hero on a white horse, and thirteen-year-old Merrilee had developed a crush on her best friend’s older brother that had lasted…

  She’d almost thought forever, but MJ had recovered, not only from her first adolescent crush but also from her first real love. Otherwise, how could she have gone away to New York without him? But enclosed in the intimacy of the cab, breathing his scent, hearing his voice, she remembered those old feelings too well.

  Gloria’s wet nose nuzzled her neck and MJ reached back to pet the dog.

  “Meet Gloria,” Grant said. “And don’t let her size fool you. She’s a teddy bear at heart.”

  “We met this morning in the waiting room. How come you named her Gloria? After an old girlfriend?”

  Grant shook his head. “With her sleek head, long lanky legs and regal appearance, she seems bigger than life, like a movie star from the 1930s. Gloria seems to suit her.”

  MJ hadn’t thought for years about Grant’s enthusiasm for classic films. “Sounds like you’re still fascinated with old movies.”

  “I watch ’em on cable every chance I get. They remind me of you.”

  “Me?” His comment puzzled her. “Because they’re in black-and-white like so many of my photos?”

  “Because we used to watch them together.” He shot her a heated glance. “The old stars remind me of you, too.”

  “I’m not exactly the glitzy-glamour type.”

  “You’re a perfect mix of all the factors that made Betty Grable, Jean Harlow and Doris Day so appealing.”

  She felt a blush rising from her collar to her hairline.

  “And—” he reached over and ran the back of his hand down her flaming cheek “—you have the advantage of living color.”

  “Tell me about Jeff,” she suggested quickly. She wanted something to take her mind off the man beside her and his compliments that made her uncomfortably warm.

  “What’s to tell?”

  “I’m surprised he’s come back.”

  Grant cast her a look she couldn’t read. “Not everyone leaves town for good.”

  “You know what I mean. Everybody knew his father beat him.”

  “His father’s dead. Left Jeff the family homestead and little else, except bad memories and some nasty scars, physical and emotional.”

  Remembering the tall, dark and dangerous boy in black leather who’d kept town tongues wagging, she shook her head. “I can’t picture Jeff as a farmer.”

  Grant grinned. “He’s not.”

  MJ frowned in confusion. “But we’re going to inspect his stock.”

  “I’ll let Jeff tell you about it.” Grant chuckled.

  “What are you laughing at?”

  He flashed a dazzling smile that brought an unexpected warmth to her insides. “I get a kick out of proving yo
u wrong.”

  The warmth fizzled into annoyance. “About what?”

  “You always say nothing ever changes in Pleasant Valley.”

  A sudden sadness smothered her. “Guess my parents’ breakup is proof against that.”

  Grant was immediately contrite. “Damn, I’m sorry, Merrilee. I wasn’t thinking.”

  She pushed that unpleasantness away for the moment. “So what’s changed with Jeff?”

  “Part of it you’ll see for yourself. As for the rest, I’ll let him tell you.”

  They drove to the end of the valley where the winding road became a series of switchbacks that worked their way up the mountain. As Merrilee remembered from a rare visit there with her father, the Davidson’s property, unlike the fertile farmland of the valley, was mountainous and rocky, its only buildings a rundown house and ramshackle barn. A small terrace, barely big enough for a vegetable patch, a pond and a tiny pasture had been graded out of the eastern slope.

  Hiram Davidson, Jeff’s father, hadn’t made his living from farming, however, but by selling illegal moonshine. He’d hidden his still in the higher reaches of the mountain and the authorities, despite their best efforts, had never discovered it.

  Merrilee recalled Jeff as tall and lanky, his long black hair tied back by a leather thong, and looking like he could use a good meal. He’d been arrogant, solitary and had never let anyone close, hadn’t had friends that she knew of. Why he’d chosen to return to his unattractive homestead was a mystery.

  Especially considering his father.

  Hiram had been mean as a snake. His wife, Jeff’s mother, had died when Jeff was a baby. Folks in town swore she died in self-defense, unable to withstand the abuse and neglect. But Hiram sober was sweetness and light compared to when he’d been drinking. Brynn’s police chief father had locked the scoundrel up for brawling so many times, the department had named a jail cell after him.

  “I’m glad we don’t have to deal with Hiram,” Merrilee said with a shiver of remembrance.

  “He’s been gone over a year.”

  “Cirrhosis of the liver?”

  Grant shook his head. “Pancreatic cancer.”

  “So now Jeff owns the family place?”

  Grant nodded. “Such as it is.”

  “Is he still running moonshine?” She pictured the big, noisy Harley Jeff used to ride, its saddlebags filled with mason jars of white lightning, cushioned with moss to keep them from breaking.

  “When Hiram died,” Grant explained, “Jeff alerted the Feds, led them to the still, and they destroyed it. He has other plans for the property.”

  Grant turned off the highway onto a gravel road almost hidden by arching branches of rhododendron heavy with buds among the glossy, dark green leaves. The truck continued to climb through the hardwood forest that towered over the road, obscuring the sun. When Grant pulled into an open clearing, Merrilee blinked, both from sudden sunlight and surprise.

  Excitement coursed through her.

  “Stop!” she yelled.

  Gloria woofed in alarm and Grant slammed on the brakes.

  “What?” he asked.

  Too absorbed to answer, MJ grabbed her camera and climbed from the car. Late-afternoon sun filtered through the tall leafless trunks and bathed the clearing in an ethereal golden glow. Striations of light and shadow played on the gray weathered boards of the ancient barn, making it appear as if it had been painted by an Impressionist. Working fast before the remarkable light faded, she raised her camera, framed the shot and snapped the building. She repeated the procedure to capture the scene from several angles.

  Unaware of anything except the images in her view-finder, MJ didn’t hear anyone approach. As a result, when the light eventually shifted and spoiled the effect, she stopped, slung the camera strap over her shoulder and turned back toward the truck, only to find Grant, Gloria and a familiar-looking stranger barring her way.

  “You been living too long in the big city, Merrilee June. From all those pictures you were taking, I’d think you’d never seen a barn before.” The man’s slow, easy grin softened the sarcasm of his words.

  “It’s not the barn so much as the light,” MJ explained and tried to place the man. “But it’s gone now.”

  He was as tall as Grant, but more muscled. His deep gray eyes were friendly, his posture relaxed. When he ran his hand over his dark hair, close-cropped in military fashion, the sleeve of his T-shirt slipped, revealing a tattoo of the Marine insignia with “Semper Fi” on his bulging bicep.

  “Jeff Davidson.” The pieces clicked into place. He’d changed so much from the skinny, unkempt, sullen teenager she remembered, she hadn’t recognized him at first, even though she’d been expecting to see him. What had thrown her was his smile. In all the years she’d known him, she’d never seen him with a happy expression before today.

  “It’s been a long time,” Jeff said.

  MJ tallied in her head. “At least twelve years.”

  “I’d better get busy.” Grant hefted his medical bag. “Where do you want me to start?”

  Jeff nodded toward a pasture behind the barn. “The goat herd. I have five new kids.”

  MJ fell in step with the two men as they rounded the barn, extending her stride to keep up with them. “You’re raising goats?”

  “Among other things,” Jeff said. “I also have three milk cows, five pigs, a flock of chickens and four horses. And ducks.”

  “What, no partridge in a pear tree?” Merrilee asked.

  Jeff didn’t answer, but another dazzling smile suggested her teasing pleased him.

  “But Grant said you weren’t into farming,” she added.

  “I’m not.”

  “What’s this then?” MJ nodded toward the goats that came running at their approach. “A petting zoo?”

  Grant and Jeff exchanged grins.

  “You tell her,” Grant said. “It’s your baby.”

  Jeff folded his arms on the top rail of the fence and gazed over the enclosure, pride of ownership evident in his expression. “There’s still lots to do yet, but when I’m finished, I’ll have a boys’ ranch.”

  “A summer camp?” MJ asked, perplexed. Jeff had never struck her as the warm and fuzzy type, especially where children were concerned.

  The ex-Marine shook his head. “Year-round. This is a private venture, but I’m working in cooperation with state social services. This—” his gesture took in the barn, pasture, garden and house “—will be a last chance for teenagers who’ve broken the law. I’ve hired counselors, including a psychologist, who’ll work with them to turn their lives around before they end up behind bars with a criminal record and serious jail time.”

  “Whew,” MJ said. “You have your work cut out for you.”

  “Work is an understatement,” Grant said. “Delinquent teenagers. Man, that takes guts.”

  “No guts, no glory,” Jeff said. “Besides, the Marines taught me to work hard.” The unfamiliar smile lighted his face once more. “And to be fearless. Or, at least, to act that way.”

  “You can’t let kids know you’re afraid,” MJ said with an understanding nod. “They become predators, sniffing blood and moving in to finish you off.”

  “You a teacher, like your mom?” Jeff asked.

  She shook her head. “But I’ve photographed enough children’s parties to learn the little darlings’ killer instincts.”

  Grant had been scrutinizing the herd. “Your goats seem healthy. Let’s have a closer look.”

  He entered the enclosure, kneeled beside the nearest kid, and swooped it up, a tan-and-white bundle that seemed mostly long legs. Cradled in Grant’s arms, the kid nuzzled beneath his chin, obviously content.

  Jeff peered over Grant’s shoulder. “That’s Gunny.”

  “Strange name,” MJ observed.

  “Named after my gunnery sergeant,” Jeff said. “But this little fellow has a much sweeter disposition.” Devilment lighted his gray eyes. “Smells better, too.”

&n
bsp; The men fastened their attention on the animal and MJ quickly lifted her camera. Jeff and Grant, both over six feet tall and well-built, dwarfed the tiny kid, but what made the image most memorable were the tender expressions on the faces of the tough ex-Marine and the practical vet and the reciprocal trust of the animal in their grasp.

  While Grant examined and immunized one kid at a time, MJ took several pictures of the young goats gamboling in the pasture. Then the ducklings on the pond, swimming in formation behind their mother, caught her eye and she shot more frames.

  She followed Jeff and Grant as the vet inspected each of Jeff’s animals, prescribed medication for mastitis for one of the cows, discussed the best feed for the chickens and admired the horses Jeff had recently purchased.

  In the horse stall, MJ captured her favorite vignettes of the day. As Grant stood beside the roan mare, rubbing the horse’s muzzle, the faint overhead bulb and the last rays of sun streaming through the open doors of the hayloft above created a lighting effect a Dutch Master would have envied. She loved the way the sunlight glinted gold on Grant’s thick hair and gave a corresponding sheen to the mare’s coat. Grant gazed into the roan’s eyes and the horse returned his look with an expression of silent communication. MJ prayed the resulting print would show the gentleness of Grant’s touch, the calming message in his gaze as he soothed the horse’s nervousness at the presence of strangers.

  MJ couldn’t help contrasting her own inner turmoil with Grant’s serenity. He was obviously at man at peace with himself and with nature, and that tranquillity translated itself to both the people and animals around him. He operated with the rhythms of the seasons, accepting the changes in the earth as easily as he did the cycles of life and death among the animals he treated. Unlike the frenetic rat race of the city dwellers she’d lived among, Grant’s pace was deliberate and purposeful, but without hurry, as if he were attuned to God’s time. Just being around him soothed her frazzled nerves and momentarily eased the horrendous ache her parents’ separation had created in her heart.

  Grant was as elemental as the earth, but there was fire there, too, and she saw it now, shining in his eyes when his gaze met hers. She looked away and hurriedly aimed her camera for a throwaway shot, afraid to confront what she recognized in his expression.